


Two Hundred Forty-Five Seconds (and a Heartbeat Choice)

by thedilemmawrites



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, One Shot, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedilemmawrites/pseuds/thedilemmawrites
Summary: From a very young age, Flynn Rider had trained himself to be a strategist.  Cunning is almost a requirement for survival as an itinerant thief, and it just so happens that Flynn has that quality in spades.  He's made his life into a game of sorts, a game of winning or losing, living or dying.  Always measuring the angles, discerning strengths, weaknesses, advantages, disadvantages---gleaning and using any knowledge that could help him survive another day.   But this time is different.  This time he's not just playing this game for himself, he's playing for the life of another.  He has so much more to lose.What an unselfish (dangerous) way to play.(A piece reflecting Eugene Fitzherbert's final heartbeats spent with his sunshine girl.)





	Two Hundred Forty-Five Seconds (and a Heartbeat Choice)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Disney's Tangled

**It takes Eugene two hundred forty-five seconds to die.** It's not that long, really; less than five minutes. But Flynn Rider—the thief, the scoundrel, the felon—knows there's a plethora of things that can happen in five minutes. Two hundred forty-five seconds is long enough to woo a lady, to make a bargain, to steal a crown. It's long enough to seal a fate, to change a fortune, for someone to live or die or forgive or destroy. He supposes some of his best, most grandiose adventures are the results of swift decisions, those split-second choices made between heartbeats that can alter a destiny forever. Heartbeat-choices. He also supposes that taking Rapunzel to see the lanterns was a heartbeat-choice. And now, as Gothel's dagger plunges into his side, the countdown to his final heartbeat-choice begins.

Eugene's no stranger to pain. He's witnessed and experienced a lot of it in his life, some of it emotional, some of it physical. He treats it similarly either way. Patch it up. Shove it down, lock it up where he can't feel it, where it can't hurt him. Press on. But this is different. This kind of wound isn't one he can just cage up like some sort of feral beast. This kind of wound is fire: blinding, white-hot, and deadly. He's curled up, arm clamped to his side, shards of glass flashing around him like a sky full of stars. Casting a shadow over him is a woman, the one he assumes Rapunzel calls mother. He has some other, less complimentary names for her.

"Now look what you've done, Rapunzel," she's saying, her voice cool and sleek as fine silk. Rapunzel's calling out, but her voice is coming from the other side of a long tunnel. "Oh, don't worry, dear. Our secret will die with him."

Eugene has a hard time understanding her through the haze clouding his senses. Black frames his vision, uniting with the agony in his gut that eats away at his consciousness. He just wants to curl into a ball and stay there until the pain goes away. But Rapunzel needs him—she's restrained, struggling, a prisoner of that witch—and the thought of that is enough to fight the pain and blackness descending on him from all sides. She cries out through the gag tied over her mouth, and oh, if only he could focus long enough to crack a joke to comfort her—or even better, knock that woman out with a frying pan. But the fire is spreading, consuming him whole, and he's fading, fading, fading fast.

"And as for us," the woman snarls, and Eugene faintly hears the rattle of chains and the frantic swish of cloth, "we . . . are going somewhere no one . . . will be . . . able to find you . . . again!" With what feels like astronomical effort, Eugene shifts his head—watching horrified, helpless as a worm on a hook. Green eyes wide with terror, Rapunzel struggles against her captor, screams of protest muffled by the cloth wrapped around her mouth. "Rapunzel, really!" the woman snaps, teeth bared as she yanks on the chains. Even from his limited vantage point on the floor, he can tell Rapunzel is giving it all she's got. The woman's frustration is proof enough of that. "Enough already! Stop. Fighting. Me!"

"No!" Rapunzel's voice rings out, clear and strong and resolute. His bright and merry sunshine girl. "I won't stop! For every minute of the rest of my life I will fight! I will never stop trying to get away from you!"

If Eugene had the strength to cheer he would, except all of his energy seems to be leaching out of him with the blood oozing from his wound. He recognizes the same determination and passion he witnessed in that pub he brought her to . . . was it really only three days ago? It feels like an eternity. Once again, admiration for this luminous ray of light wells up inside him.

"But," she starts, and his heart skips a beat, "if you let me save him, I will go with you."

Dread like lightning sparks in his heart, shooting bolts of electric energy through his veins. _No_. He tries to crawl forward, but his limbs are made of lead and his stomach is turning somersaults and he is completely and utterly _powerless_. "No! No, Rapunzel," he gasps. _Don't._ _You can't._

"I'll never run, I'll never try to escape," she says, ignoring his plea. "Just let me heal him, and you and I will be together forever, just like you want." He can hear desperation like an ache in her voice, so strong it's nearly palpable. It scares him. Desperate people will do crazy things to ease their despair, no matter what the cost.

"Everything will be the way it was," she continues. "I promise. Just like you want. Just. Let me. Heal him."

The way it was. Judging by what he's learned over the past few days, Rapunzel has been confined to this tower, this prison, for her entire life. Eugene's task to accompany her out of the tower—and the resulting adventure—seemed to be the first time she'd ever experienced the outside world. To allow such a lively, curious soul a taste of fresh, dazzling freedom, then rip it away, confine her to solitude and darkness for the rest of her life . . . The sunshine girl would no longer shine. The idea of that hurts more than the wound that's left him writhing on the floor.

Then the woman is unchaining Rapunzel and stalking over to him with the shackles in her hands. Rapunzel scrambles toward him, breathless, but a single, sharp motion from her captor sends her skittering back.

"Don't move!" she orders.

 _What are you doing_? Eugene screams. _Go! Run! Get out of here_! All he manages is a pitiful cough, little more than a wheeze in the guise of intelligible language.

"Go!" he tries again. This time he is successful, but Rapunzel—selfless, kind, sacrificial Rapunzel—stays.

She gazes at him with those brilliant green eyes and shakes her head ever so slightly. _No_ , her expression says.

Eugene's heart plummets to his middle.

From a very young age, Flynn Rider had trained himself to be a strategist. Cunning is almost a requirement for survival as an itinerant thief, and it just so happens Flynn has that quality in spades. He's made his life into a game of sorts, a game of winning or losing, living or dying. Always measuring the angles, discerning strengths, weaknesses, advantages, disadvantages—gleaning and using any knowledge that could help him survive another day. But this time is different. This time he's not just playing this game for himself, he's playing for the life of another. He has so much more to lose.

What an unselfish (dangerous) way to play.

Eugene can't do much more than squirm as the woman takes the chain and wraps it around one of wooden columns encircling the room. A cry of agony tears from him as she grabs his wrist, hauls him up, and drags him back against the post. The world spins and darkens. The piercing burn of his injury, so intense he almost thinks she's stabbed him again, causes his stomach to start churning at full speed. Nausea crashes over him in unrelenting waves. Someone far away gasps his name, but he can't quite muster the strength to reply.

"In case you get any ideas about following us," a voice growls, her voice muffled and distant.

 _Don't worry, lady_ , he thinks dazedly. He scratches at the ground, smooth and cold and solid beneath him, struggling to draw air into his heavy, sluggish lungs. _I'm not going anywhere anytime soon._

"Eugene!" Rapunzel cries, and she's there, close enough to touch. Eugene's relieved and he's terrified. The paradoxical combination roils in his gut like fire and ice, searing his skin, evaporating the air in his lungs, freezing the blood in veins. Every breath makes acid flare in his chest. He tries to hack it up and tastes copper on his tongue. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

 _What do you have to be sorry for, Blondie? If anything, you should be sorry you just gave up your freedom (life) to save me_. Of course, he doesn't say it aloud. Recently, the only thing coming out of his mouth has been grunts of pain, which isn't very conducive to saving girls held prisoner by murderous psychopaths. He just tries very hard not to unleash the contents of his stomach all over himself and Rapunzel.

"Everything is going to be okay, though. I promise." She grasps a length of her hair and pushes it toward him. His only salvation, at this point. And her condemnation.

"No, Rapunzel," he wheezes. Because everything's not going to be okay, not by a long shot. Lifting his arm feels like hefting a bag full of solid gold, but he does it, shoving away Rapunzel's hands.

"You have to trust me, come on," she coaxes over his garbled protests, like she's urging a child to take his first steps.

"I can't let you do this," he chokes out. Gives her one last chance. He can't argue much longer.

She leans in close ( _too close, too close_ ) and whispers the words that determine his fate, resolve his heartbeat-choice: "And I can't let you die."

"But if you do this," he pants, the effort to speak too much, too hard, "then you will die." The radiant soul of the sunshine girl would dim, and she would wilt and wither and die in darkness. Doesn't she understand that? Yes, is the answer. He knows it as well as he knows she will do it anyway, despite the inestimable cost.

A hundred different circumstances followed by a hundred respective outcomes flood his mind, so overwhelming his head spins. Or perhaps it's just blood loss finally getting to him. Vivid and unshakable amidst the cataclysm exploding in his brain, a single phrase stands out, sharp and bright as a soldier's sword: _And when I promise something, I never ever break that promise. Ever._

Back then, Rapunzel's declaration had just seemed naive, another (maybe worthless) piece in the game he played to get what he wanted. An innocent girl with eyes like summer and hair like gold wants to be taken to see the lanterns? He'll do it, get his crown back, and book it out of there like nothing ever happened. But things have changed. The golden, summer-eyed girl is more than just a pawn, more than just something to be manipulated and tossed aside. She means something (everything) to him, and after all they've been through together, the implications of her statement petrify him.

Now, one objective remains clear in his mind: A single goal he must accomplish at any cost. He was right: Desperate people will do crazy things to ease their despair.

That woman will not extinguish the soul of the sunshine girl.

So he watches, heartbeat-choice established, as Rapunzel hushes him, her warm, soft hand caressing his face. She still smells of the flowers from Corona. Flowers and bittersweet memories. His fingers scrabble at the ground, searching for something, _anything_ that will help him win this round of the game of life (and death, at this point). That something cuts his fingers, which are growing number by the second. Without thinking, he seizes it and tucks it haphazardly under his blood-soaked torso. A truly talented thief he is.

"It's gonna be all right," she whispers, confident, reassuring. Gladly giving away her life in exchange for his.

 _Yes_ , he thinks, managing a small smile. _It will be_.

As she takes a breath to begin her healing song, he croaks: "Rapunzel, wait."

Raises his hand ( _running out of time, running out of time_ ). The feeling of her skin against his is like an oasis in a never-ending desert.

Cards his fingers through his lifeline ( _her ruination_ ).

Takes one last long look at Rapunzel. Beautiful, vibrant, seraphic Rapunzel. (His sunshine. His world will be so dark without her.)

Gathers her hair in his hand (shadows closing in).

Shears the glass fragment through her hair.

 _So long, Blondie. May my departure never dampen your extraordinary light_.

He's spent his whole life taking. He's supposes it's only right that his last moments are spent giving back.

 _Darkness_.

* * *

Someone is shaking him.

Eugene is so tired; oblivion tugs at him persistently with shadow hands, beckoning him into sweet, tranquil unconsciousness. But there's a voice, a familiar voice—a distinctly upset voice, tugging him away from peaceful twilight. He vaguely understands he should probably do something to comfort the owner of the voice, but his eyelids are so, so heavy and his brain is one big, gray cloud and he's floating . . . floating . . .

"Flower gleam and glow, let your powers shine. " The same melodic voice sings the ditty like a hymn of supplication, fractured and so full of pain he wonders if his own heart will break from the agony of simply hearing it. It takes everything he has, but he peels open his eyes.

Though his vision is dim and blurry, he can still make out the sunshine girl, who clutches his hand with her own and presses it to her newly shorn locks, face contorted with the effort of holding back tears. Despite that, she's still summer-eyed and golden. Still the most beautiful soul he's ever seen.

But he doesn't have time to tell her that. He wishes he did. Two hundred forty-five seconds is too long to die, too long for agony to consume him like wildfire, too long for regrets and wishes and things left unsaid to creep up from his subconscious, grab him by the ankles, and drag him down into the dark waters of shame and sorrow. But it's also too short to _live_. Two hundred forty-five seconds is too short for Eugene to reveal what resides within the deepest recesses of his heart, unacknowledged except during those final heartbeats before oblivion. But he's gotta say something, so he takes a weak, shallow breath and says, "Hey."

It comes out pathetically weak, and predictably Rapunzel ignores him. She's singing the same song she used to heal his hand what feels like a lifetime ago. Eugene knows it won't work, and judging by Rapunzel's expression, she knows it, too. Getting her to listen might be more than he can handle (sensation in his extremities has vanished completely), but he has to try.

"Hey," he breathes. "Rapunzel." His vitality is ebbing like a sun setting for the last time. _Please_. _Just a few more heartbeats_. Finally he captures her attention—and it's a good thing, too; he can feel his consciousness slipping away like water from rock. (The clock is ticking. His precious heartbeats are dwindling fast.)

Rapunzel stares at him with those emerald eyes glassy with tears, sunlit features shrouded by despondency. It's a crying shame he has to leave her this way, but now is not the time for mourning or regrets. Steeling himself, Eugene clings stubbornly to awareness and refuses to let go. He can't go until . . .

"What?" she whispers, eyes glistening like polished emeralds.

Right. He has to focus. What can he say within his final heartbeats that will even begin to express everything he yearns to say? Quite frankly, his sentiments are ineffable; even if he was sound of mind and body and had an eternity he would not be able to sufficiently declare his convictions to her. But he hasn't time to think about it further. So he uses the last bit of air left in his nonfunctional lungs to utter words he can only hope speak infinities to her: "You were my new dream."

She offers a shaky smile, not unlike the smile he'd given her right before he'd cut off her hair and his deliverance. (He supposes that in giving Rapunzel her freedom he also took something from her as well.) Right before he picked the lock of the cage that has held her for too long. (He is a thief, after all.)

As darkness envelopes him for the last time, he hears four words he never imagined would be told to him: "And you were mine."

 _And I am yours_.

Eugene's last thoughts? His final heartbeat-choice has been made. Flynn Rider has lost the game of life, but Eugene Fitzherbert won in the end. The sunshine girl still shines, and that's worth more than all of the crowns and magic hair in the world.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's just a little part in here that isn't solidly canon (the section in which Gothel agrees to let Rapunzel heal Eugene), and I believe Disney skipped over that part purely because it would've traumatized the little kids who came to see the movie. I, however, have no such qualms. I hope I haven't strayed too far from the characters' personalities with my version of what happened. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
